


Contrappasso

by vogue91



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Disfigurement, Gen, Mild OoC, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-13 21:38:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12993057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vogue91/pseuds/vogue91
Summary: The problem with Deatheaters, it's that they never see evil when it comes from the good ones.





	Contrappasso

He’s always deemed himself as a pretty peaceful guy.  
He rarely lost his patience, and this part of him had proven essential to survive his family, and then to learn to live with Fleur, task that wasn’t always easy.  
There was just one thing that managed to sparkle that particular light in him, to insinuate rage in his soul, to make him want an unspeakable dose of violence.  
Mirrors.  
Those thin layers of glass, that since a year ago seemed to be everywhere around him.  
Too often at night, when he couldn’t sleep, when nightmares came to him even before sleep, he got out of the bed and he silently reached the bathroom.  
He got his face closer to the mirror, and he started to outline his scars with a fingertip.  
He shivered thinking about the circumstance in which he got them, he shivered thinking about that monster.  
That monster that had left a part of himself on him.  
Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t ignore those marks, those wounds that were going to scar his face until his death.  
He didn’t want to. Because all that mattered to him was not to forget the hate he felt, to save it in an obscure part of his mind until the time he could let it explode.  
Because Bill Weasley was a pretty peaceful guy.  
That’s why he was sure, his rage would’ve been the worst.

~

His wife’s look was more than eloquent.  
In front of them, in the most macabre show they’d ever seen, a crowd of Detheaters. Aligned, wands in their hands. Those of them with their faces unveiled, wore a sardonic smile, a promise of sure suffering.  
And yet Bill couldn’t concentrate on what was about to happen.  
His eyes had been captured by the shapes behind those very same Deatheaters.  
Werewolves, taken out like dogs, growling like tigers.  
Dangerous, deadly, but Bill didn’t care. The only thing he could focus on, was the werewolf that was leading them.  
He would’ve loved to growl himself, if that wouldn’t have reminded him of the evil deep inside his very own nature.  
That was why Fleur, before they split, had looked at him in contempt, but he pretended not to notice.  
He knew she was worried about him, and he was sorry.  
For a strange paradox, what had happened to him had served the purpose of getting them closer, and he had to admit he had been surprised by the way she had acted.  
Young, of unspeakable beauty, she could’ve had anything she desired... and yet she showed him the pureness of her love, that he would’ve almost called innocent, for she found in those scars just a reason to stay beside him.  
He wouldn’t have wanted for her to suffer, but right now his mind was clouded by the sharpest thirst for revenge. He couldn’t think about anything that wasn’t that animal who, a few inches from him, was laughing of his own ferocity.  
He was going to pay. He swore it to Billy Weasley’s old face, lost forever.

~

“Do it! What are you waiting for?” he screamed, a sly grin on his face.  
Bill had Stunned him, and the lycanthrope was now at his mercy. He had turned back when he understood he couldn’t react, not as a wolf nor as a man.  
And yet, there were no traces of fear in him.  
And the reason was that Bill was shivering.  
He wasn’t shivering out of fear, for a sudden lack of courage... he was shivering for the rage that shook him, in his bowels, for the hate that was flowing in his veins. The one in front of him was not a man nor a beast. There was no point in calling him a monster anymore. It was a being, who didn’t deserve any dignity.  
He tightened his hand on the wand, raising it toward him.  
“Do you think I don’t have it in me?” he asked, trying to sound disdainful. Greyback burst out into an acute, macabre laughter.  
“That’s the problem with good people. You don’t know when’s the point to turn bad.” he accused him.  
Bill took a deep breath. He was right.  
Where stood the limit between goodness and cowardice? How far was he willing to degrade himself out of mere revenge, a feeling which was so little like him?  
At that moment, he made a silent prayer to his old self, to that Bill Weasley that didn’t let anything unsettle him, that wouldn’t have taken his wand which such a spiteful intent.  
_Hide who I am and help find the mask more suited for my intentions. With this face I wear, I won’t be able to make him pay the price for his actions. I beg of you. I beg of you._  
He repeated those words in his mind again and again, while the world around him faded.  
In the end, he raised his eyes back on Greyback, who was lazily enjoying the hesitation he read on the man’s face.  
He sighed and lowered his wand. The other one laughed out loud for that sudden sign of weakness. So busy with such an unfruitful mockery, he didn’t notice the spell that Bill was murmuring.  
“Petrificus Totalus.”  
Bill saw the look on Greyback’s face crystalizing in a confused grimace. The only thing he felt sorry for, was that he couldn’t see him react when he Transfigured his wand into a knife.  
Sharp, stinging, just like the claws the werewolf used to show so proudly.  
And he felt sorry when he couldn’t hear him scream, when the blade caressed his face, taking with it his corrupted blood.  
Once, twice, three times.  
Until Bill felt satisfied, until Fenrir Greyback’s face was marked with his revenge.  
He leaned on him, smiling.  
“This is the problem with you bad people. You always fail to understand how bad the good ones can become.” he whispered, before turning away.  
There was a war, that night.  
And he had just won his battle.


End file.
